


Echoes In My Head

by marchingjaybird



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-30
Updated: 2010-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 20:04:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchingjaybird/pseuds/marchingjaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt is in jail, and Frank pays him a visit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Echoes In My Head

The other inmates don't bother him.

They all know better by now, some having learned their lesson the hard way, the others wisely heeding the prison rumor mill. It's to the point now that he can walk unmolested, eat his meals alone, and bathe with a wide radius of empty showerheads to either side of him. There's talk, of course. There's always talk. But for the most part, it isn't directed at him, and that's the way he intends to keep it. Let them whisper behind his back, so long as they don't work up the nerve to speak to his face.

Water pours down on his head, thundering as it hits his skull. It's a strange form of peace and quiet, white noise that drowns out most other sounds. Beyond the room, conversations are dim and hard to distinguish. Within the room, the only noise is the rustle of limbs and the occasional soft curse as someone slops soap into their eyes, or loses track of a towel. He ignores them all, bending his head into the spray and inhaling steam.

The door hushes as it opens. Heartbeats quicken. Matt lifts his head a little, cocks it to the side away from the shower. There is a sudden flurry of activity as inmates realize they ought to be other places, wet feet slapping on tile, the hard rasp of fabric against skin. One heartbeat stands out, strong and familiar. Frank is in the room.

In a little over a minute, they are alone together. Frank doesn't speak, but Matt listens to his heavy tread as he steps under a showerhead and flicks it on. It's the one right next to Matt, and the edge of a cold spray catches his foot. He turns his face, draws down his brows. Frank ignores him, and the heavy, slick smell of soap fills the room.

Matt turns off his shower and leaves.

***

It's late when the guard comes to his cell. Matt is wide awake, perched on the edge of his bunk, and the corner of his eye twitches as the key rasps in the lock. He hears Frank's heart again, smells his sweat and his skin. The guard leaves, feet tapping rapidly back down the hall as Frank pulls the door to.

"Something on your mind, Frank?" he asks.

"Usually is," Frank answers. There's a sharpness about him, crackling tension in the air. Matt is familiar with it but can't place it; he's always just assumed that it was Frank's reaction to his presence. It makes the skin on his back crawl, prickles that dance down his spine, and he shifts on the mattress as Frank's big hand descends to cup his face.

"What's going on?" Matt asks. Frank answers without words, his free hand fisting the front of Matt's orange jumpsuit and yanking him to his feet. The other slides around to cup the back of his head and Matt understands.

He parts his lips as Frank's mouth presses down on his, tongue sweeping hard past his teeth. It's a rough kiss, need and shame and anger in partnership, and Matt replies in kind, biting Frank's lips and dragging clawed fingers along bare, broad shoulders. They stumble away from the bed, against the wall, and the full weight of Frank's huge frame presses against him and forces the air from his lungs. Their hearts beat hard and quick, indistinguishable from one another as Frank's rough hands go to work on his clothes.

He strips Matt with dispassionate efficiency then pulls back. His breath is loud, his heartbeat erratic. Hard, hot fingers touch bare skin and Matt shivers at the strangeness of it even as he arches into them. They find his nipples, torture them into hardness, and he bites back his cries by sinking his teeth into his lower lip. Frank growls, a sound that grips Matt in the gut and twists; it feels like his hips are being pulled forward on a string, helped by Frank's eager hands.

"Close your damn eyes," he whispers, and Matt laughs roughly. Skin rasps against Frank's tongue, then slick fingers press up inside Matt. The burn is agonizing at first, then melts into pleasure as they push deeper, caressing and twisting inside him. He is reduced to gasping, scrabbling at Frank's arms and shoulders. They bunch beneath his hands, taut and rock solid as Frank lifts him. He laughs again, stunned by the suddenness, the inexplicable inevitability of it all, and then he wraps his legs around Frank's thick waist and grits his teeth as the Punisher enters him, thick and viciously painful.

Matt bites through his lip then and cries out at the coppery taste of blood on his tongue. The stone wall is rough and cold against his spine as Frank moves inside him, helped only by spit, and it feels as though the pain will never end, a steady burning fire as Frank cups his ass and rolls his hips and shudders against him, over and over, in and out. Powerful muscles tense and flex, scars twist and ripple beneath his fingers. Frank's tongue finds his torn lip, caresses for a moment before Frank's teeth descend on it, teasing out more blood, more pain, and Matt digs his fingernails hard into Frank's marked skin, leaving his own little scars. The smell of sweat and blood fills the room. It's like nothing he's ever had before and everything that he didn't know he was missing.

He reaches down, cups his own erection, and Frank's laugh rumbles against his chest. He starts to stroke, steady and even, and Frank matches his rhythm, leaning into the wall. His lips skate against Matt's jaw, his neck, his shoulders, leaving proprietary little bruises where his teeth grind against tender skin. The breath hitches in Matt's throat, pleasure from his own hand, pain and a deep, grinding ecstasy from Frank's cock. His free hand scrabbles at the back of Frank's neck, holds him steady. He can hear Frank grind his teeth, the slap of flesh on flesh, the rasp as skin is scraped from his back. Frank cups him with one arm and slaps the other hand across his mouth so that he can scream.

He twists wildly as he comes, spilling himself in desperate, shuddering jerks across Frank's stomach and chest. There is a moment where Frank's fingers clench against his jaw, and the power in his grip is terrifying, enough to break bones, and then he relaxes, thrusts growing lazy as wetness fills Matt and spills out onto his thighs.

Frank lowers him slowly, supports him as he staggers back to his bed. Every part of him aches, but he manages to smile as Frank cleans him off, wiping up blood and sweat and come before pulling the covers up over his shoulders and departing the cell. Matt focuses on him, listening to his heart hammer away in his chest until sleep steals over him and shuts everything out.


End file.
